


Hands

by AwashSquid



Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon, Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon (Anime & Manga)
Genre: F/F, slight gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 10:39:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10829586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwashSquid/pseuds/AwashSquid
Summary: Haruka loved Michiru's hands.





	Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Very short, very sad.

Michiru’s delicate hands, with their long, thin fingers and their achingly fragile palms, seemed utterly dwarfed next to her own. Haruka traced the hands almost reverently, with as much gentleness as she could bear, feeling the softness of the skin yield to callused flesh, built up from years of feverish violin playing, from years of gripping a paintbrush hard enough to snap it in half. These calluses were one of Haruka’s favorite features, though she wouldn’t admit it out loud, because they were sometimes her only reminder that Michiru was in fact a human being and not a sea goddess made flesh, threatening to return to the ocean in a splash of saltwater the moment she grew tired of breathing. These rough patches matched Haruka’s own hands in some ways, weathered as they were from handling tools, repairing cars, trying to fix broken things without shattering them.

As Haruka held onto Michiru’s hands, now squeezing them so tightly that she could feel joints popping, she fleetingly wished that healing a human was as easy as fixing a car—take out the faulty part, fix it, replace it, and have the engine purring good as new in no time at all. But human bodies weren’t made of metal and plastic, and Haruka knew that reaching into the gaping hole in Michiru’s chest wouldn’t yield a faulty transmission.

So she grasped those hands, already so cold to the touch, until her own bones began to tremble under the strain, until her knuckles turned almost as white as Michiru’s paling flesh, and she tried to remember how it felt to have the hands squeeze back, knowing that they never would again.


End file.
